


Ouroboros

by maliwanhellfire



Series: The World Serpent [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Groundhog Day, Humour, M/M, Romance, Time Loop, use of ableist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22612939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliwanhellfire/pseuds/maliwanhellfire
Summary: “So, he claims to be a time traveller,” Cullen said, slowly and with obvious disbelief.“Would anyone be able to tell me what day it is?” Dorian asked.“He's obviously a spy,” Cassandra replied.“I hope it's not the third,” Dorian muttered.Dorian has been living through his own personal Groundhog Year and he's finally decided to tell everybody. It doesn't matter though, this run's a wash anyway.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Series: The World Serpent [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078862
Comments: 58
Kudos: 506





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about all those beautiful time travel AUs that I love and how each of them gives us so much pathos and insight into the characters.  
> Then I thought of this AU.  
> And I figured, what the hell?

The Chantry glowed with the sickly green light of the rift. Small distortions in the air circled around the room, barely visible to the eye. It was the first time that Bull had ever seen a rift without a wave of demons to follow it. Instead, there was just one man, seated at a pew, facing the altar.

“Could you close that, if you wouldn’t mind?” the man asked, his voice tired and refined; Tevinter, possibly from around Qarinus.

“Be careful, Boss,” Bull said.

The Inquisitor nodded, before raising his hand. Vivienne shifted her grip on her staff, taking up the guard to the Inquisitor’s right, while Bull held up the left. The rift fought as the Inquisitor reached out to close it, shrieking with the voice of a hundred monsters before it was devoured by the mark. The silence after was always the most eerie thing.

“That never ceases to impress me,” the man said, breaking the quiet.

“You’re not Felix,” the Inquisitor said.

“No,” he said. “I’m Dorian Pavus, most recently of—”

The man, Dorian, raised a hand to his head and hissed. He still hadn’t moved from his seat. The impossible manoeuvring of Alexius and the manipulations of his son had put Bull on edge. It would be no surprise at all if some clever demon had lured them to a rift and waited for them to put their guard down. Bull caught the Inquisitor’s eye and saw a mirror to his own wariness.

He felt the cool brush of Vivienne’s shield over him. Bull moved forward.

“Are you alright?” Bull said, his tone cool.

When he came up beside the pew, he saw why Dorian hadn’t risen to greet them. The man was ashen, his side rent by the swipe of a three-clawed hand. He had his palm over the wound, but the blood was still dripping over his fingers. Dorian’s breath was steady, though weak.

“I didn’t do very well this time,” Dorian said. “It’s good to see you, Bull.”

“Do you know him?” the Inquisitor asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“I don’t,” Bull replied.

Dorian shook his head. His eyes were barely focussed. They were sage-green, almost grey in the candlelight. Dorian was dressed in the manner of Tevinter Alti, his leathers ostentatious, if a little worn. If his clothing spoke to rough living, he was trying to hide it. He had a perfectly curled moustache and hair which had been set with some sort of pomade.

“You would have noticed the distortions by now,” Dorian said. “Time is affected here, that’s how Alexius stole your mages.”

It was a thought they had all considered and had reluctantly discarded. Time magic had long proved impossible, a fact Vivienne had been well aware of and willing to explain. The theory behind it was beyond the rest of them, but if she said it was so, then it was so.

“It’s the rifts,” Dorian slurred. His eyes tracked unsteadily over to Vivienne.

Vivienne visibly weighed the information, without lowering her guard. Her misgivings over an apostate mage presenting himself in such a state were clear, but she hadn’t made it to where she was by ignoring information, true or otherwise. Like Bull, she knew that even lies had value.

“Madame de Fer, a pleasure as always,” Dorian said, slowly.

“Forgive me if I cannot say the same,” Vivienne replied, her voice that perfect combination of attention and disdain. It was perfectly devastating to the self-important, but it made Dorian smile. He had started to list to the side.

“We have met, just like this, many times before,” Dorian said. “I wouldn’t usually tell you. However, I am very tired, and I have lost a lot of blood.”

The Inquisitor stepped forward, confusion and pity stark on his face. He had a cursed soft spot for broken things and the mage before them was probably delirious or mad, or maybe something else. Bull hadn’t met men who committed so strangely to a con, but there was always a first time.

“How could this be true?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Through a loop in the Breach,” Dorian said. “And whenever we fail to close it, I come back here, to where we began.”

“I am sure you can understand how unbelievable this is,” the Inquisitor replied, gently.

Dorian nodded, then winced.

“The technical explanation is that the Breach has cut through space _and_ time, among other things. The walls are now permeable,” Dorian said. “I can try to bring up odd little bits of personal information, if that’s more convincing.”

“You might as well try,” the Inquisitor said. 

“You wear that helmet because it makes you look dashing, but more than that it obscures your face when you’re scared.”

“I have seen confidence men employ similar tricks,” Vivienne said, evenly.

“I am quite good at cold reading,” Dorian admitted. “What else? It will rain tomorrow? In a week, Bull will finally manage to have it on with two nuns at the same time?”

“No kidding,” Bull said.

“You’re going to be incredibly obnoxious about it,” Dorian replied.

“You realise that in telling me, I could just decide not to do it, and then your prediction would be wrong.”

“Why are you always so bloody-minded about determinism?” Dorian said, despairingly. “Whether or not I tell you, you’ll do it anyway, because you don’t want to turn down sex with two nuns.”

“Which nuns?” Bull asked.

“I don’t think this is helping,” the Inquisitor said, dryly.

“Everything’s spinning,” Dorian interjected, his eyes going glassy. 

“I would suggest you leave the dangerous apostate to his fate, but we might be better served placing him in the dungeon,” Vivienne said.

Vivienne had the best head for intrigue out of any of them and she didn’t suffer fools or charlatans. Her lip was curled with distaste, but Bull could see her considering the possibility that Dorian might be useful and coming up just barely in his favour. The blood from Dorian’s wound had pooled so much that it had begun to drip onto the floor. While he wasn’t a threat, at present, he wouldn’t be a resource if they left him for long.

“Just unlock the door when the dragon comes,” Dorian slurred.

“What?” the Inquisitor exclaimed.

“It’s so damp down there. So many rats.”

Dorian’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body went limp, then slipped sideways against the back of the pew. His skull made a dull ‘thunk’ as it hit the wood.

“Do you think he’s possessed?” Bull asked.

“Unlikely. I’m not sure what he is,” Vivienne said.

“About to bleed to death,” the Inquisitor replied.

Bull reached over to pick Dorian up. He was heavier than he looked and more handsome with his face not twisted in pain. He had a beauty mark on his cheek that Bull had originally mistaken for gore.

“Always be careful of the pretty ones, Boss,” Bull said.

“You’re the one who picked him up, Darling,” Vivienne replied.

“I’m not one to take my own advice,” Bull replied.

* * *

They decided to lock Dorian up in the dungeon.

“You’re not locking him up in the dungeon,” Stitches said.

Stitches had his arms folded and his legs set firmly upon the ground, blocking Bull from entering his medical tent. He had a very firm scowl set on his face.

“Yeah, but I am though,” Bull replied.

Everyone else was doing important things and Bull did his best work at night-time, so it had fallen to him to move Dorian from where he was, to where he belonged.

“It’s a miracle he’s not dead,” Stitches replied. “If you put him down there, he’ll catch his within a week.”

“He’s a dangerous apostate, you know,” Bull said.

“He’s predominantly unconscious,” Stitches replied.

“Could be faking.”

Stitches looked over his shoulder, to where Dorian was lying asleep, drool dripping from his lips. There was a bandage around his head, from the goose egg he’d given himself when he smacked the hardwood. Skinner was sitting by his bedside with her chin on her hand, probably to check he didn’t stop breathing. She poked him in the cheek with her knife and Dorian didn’t move. She looked up at Bull and shrugged.

“He woke up this afternoon and asked me how my embroidery was going,” Skinner said. “He is completely mad.”

“He’s only delirious,” Stitches said.

“You can put him in the dungeon when he gets better, maybe,” Skinner replied. “Or you could wait until Stitches is asleep and leave him out in the snow.”

“I won’t let you kill my patient,” Stitches hissed.

“He’s a Vint, you know,” Bull said.

“Then you can kill him when he’s no longer my patient,” Stitches replied, matter-of-factly. “Until then, you can leave him alone.”

* * *

“So, he claims to be a time traveller,” Cullen said, slowly and with obvious disbelief.

“Would anyone be able to tell me what day it is?” Dorian asked.

They’d managed to get Dorian mostly upright, though that was in large part due to the fact that Bull was holding him so. Vivienne was flanking his other side, ready to smack him down if he tried something. She was, quite reasonably, annoyed at the nature of her role in their meeting.

“We do not have time for swindlers and crooks,” Cassandra replied, ignoring Dorian completely.

“Oh, Cassandra, I have missed your maternal warmth most of all,” Dorian said.

Cassandra’s face went steely and red. The Inquisitor put a hand on her shoulder and found himself treated to a glare so fierce that he immediately removed himself out of fear. Dorian, for his part, had the dilated pupils of the recently drugged and seemed to be having the time of his life.

“What did you give me?” Dorian asked.

“It’s a mixture of herbs that acts as mild hallucinogen and a relaxant,” Bull said. “Makes people more likely to talk about things they otherwise wouldn’t.”

“Well, it is fabulous,” Dorian said, before his voice dropped to a slurred half-whisper. “Just don’t tell Cullen, he’s already got his _little problem_.”

“He’s right over there, Dorian,” Bull replied.

Cullen would have had the benefit of plausible deniability, had he not turned white and started sputtering immediately. Bull was pretty sure Red knew about Cullen’s lyrium problems, but now everyone else did too.

Dorian’s head lolled on his neck. “Sorry, Cullen,” he said.

“Inquisitor, why are you allowing this madman into our meeting?” Cullen asked, incensed.

“It seems he has plausible intelligence,” Red replied.

“He could well be mad, but he is knowledgeable about time magic. If he is who he says he is, then he’s the only expert we have, given that Alexius isn’t talking,” Vivienne added.

“I love your hats,” Dorian said, apropos of nothing.

“Thank you, Darling,” Vivienne sighed.

Cullen thumped his hand down on the table they had borrowed from Josie. The crack that sounded shocked them all into silence.

“How do you know he’s not one of Corypheus’ spies? Willing or otherwise?” Cullen asked. “I will not put our people at risk over a— an inebriated Tevinter!”

“It’s not the third is it?” Dorian asked.

“You, shut up,” Cullen said, pointing.

“Bull is it the third, yet?” Dorian asked again, his face roughly pointed in Bull’s direction.

“No, buddy,” Bull asked.

Cullen glared at him. Bull shrugged. It would at least move the man past his fixation.

“That’s good,” Dorian said. “Dragon shows up on the third.”

“The what?” Cassandra asked.

“You’ve mentioned that before,” the Inquisitor said, with concern.

“Great big fucking thing,” Dorian said. “Very ugly. Undead. Oh Andraste, don’t make me talk about it, it’s a whole thing.”

“What does the dragon do?” Bull asked, patiently.

Dorian raised his hand and flapped it around until it slapped against Bull’s chest. It stayed there, the knuckles rolling slowly over Bull’s pectorals. The pupils of Dorian’s eyes blew even wider, until only a thin, green line remained of his iris. The members of their little meeting observed this with varying responses. Vivienne was reluctantly amused. Cullen seemed to be experiencing some sort of moderate heterosexual discomfort.

Red was into it.

“Could you please stop feeling up the Bull,” Cassandra said, teeth gritted.

“If he didn’t want me to feel him up, he shouldn’t have got me drunk,” Dorian replied.

“If you tell me about the dragon, you can feel me up all you want,” Bull said, cajolingly.

An unexpectedly shrewd expression bloomed on Dorian’s face. His fingers brushed casually across Bull’s nipple, in a manner that felt more familiar than provocative, though obviously feeling someone up in a room full of people was also that.

“Coryphy, fuckit, that guy, coming with an army, full of… Cullen won’t like it.”

“Just say your piece,” Cullen said.

“Army full of templars, all fucked up on red lyri-mum.”

Cullen’s eyes widened. He clenched his hands into fists.

“I won’t believe the lies of an unknown apostate,” Cullen hissed.

“I told you,” Dorian replied in a singsong.

“Ignore him,” Bull said. “Just talk to me, gorgeous.”

“You don’t have to butter me up, dear, that’s mostly it, big army, dragon, and then we all go up the mountain roun’ the back.”

“You’re leaving out a lot of detail,” Bull replied, dryly.

“That would be because I am as high as a rock from a treb-oo-shay,” Dorian said.

“Those don’t stay high for very long, darling,” Vivienne replied.

“S’about right. I’m a moment away from going down—” Dorian trailed off, his knees giving in slowly until he was, once again, unconscious, and being held up by the collar.

Bull set Dorian onto the floor, in the recovery position and settled back into the meeting.

“I think we should see how we can prepare for a dragon,” the Inquisitor said. “Just in case.”

* * *

“Excuse me, you did what to my patient?” Stitches asked, upon Bull’s return.

Bull didn’t have a good lie for that.

“I drugged him,” Bull replied.

“You drugged the mentally unstable mage who is still one stiff breeze away from pneumonia.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Bull said.

He was holding Dorian in his arms, like he was a maiden in one of Cassandra’s dirty novels. Dorian’s eyes were slitted, his mouth was open and his moustache was a complete mess. He looked like he’d done a round with an unattended bar.

“If he dies, I will be so cranky with you,” Stitches said.

“You don’t even know the guy,” Bull said.

Stitches narrowed his eyes at bull, his brow furrowed. He was a relatively slight man, even by human standards, but he always looked substantial when he was in the healing tent. Bull knew he was in trouble when Stitches crossed his arms at him again.

“I have my professional pride,” Stitches said primly.

“He could be a spy you know.”

Stitches raised an eyebrow.

Bull decided that it would be best to put Dorian down and find somewhere else to be and someone else to be with.

* * *

“Is it the third yet?” Dorian asked, when Bull tried to interrogate him the next day.

“No,” Bull replied.

“That’s good,” Dorian said and then he passed out.

* * *

“Is it the third yet?” Dorian asked, when Bull tried to interrogate him again, the day after that.

“No,” Bull replied.

“That’s good,” Dorian said.

Bull watched him for a moment. Dorian blinked back at him.

“So—” Bull said, which was as far as he got before Dorian passed out again.

* * *

“Is it the third yet?” Dorian asked, again, the next day after the last one.

“What would you do if I said yes?” Bull asked.

“Not much,” Dorian said. “This attempt has been far from a personal best, might be better just to restart the whole exercise.”

“You realise that would mean that all of us die?” Bull replied, playing along.

“It’s only really upsetting the first dozen times or so,” Dorian said.

Dorian looked at Bull with the measured calm of a man who did not care if people thought he was fucking crazy. And Bull did, in fact, think he was fucking crazy.

“You know, I didn’t sleep with those two nuns,” Bull said.

Dorian had the gall to look apologetic.

“Oh no, did I put you off that much?” Dorian asked.

“The fact that you said they’d proposition me and that I always accept really took the shine off it when they did, not going to lie.” Bull did not relish being controlled by a demon magnet.

“I’m usually much more playful about it, come to think,” Dorian replied, thoughtfully. “Last few times I worded it as a bet.”

“That would’ve worked better yeah,” Bull said.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Dorian replied.

They were quiet for a moment, Bull watching Dorian carefully as the man played with his own chipped nail polish. He seemed very relaxed for a man who was ostensibly a prisoner, in a camp full of people who had very negative feelings about rich Tevinters.

“I kind of thought you’d be trying harder to convince me that you’re not a spy,” Bull said.

“You’re not that easily convinced, Bull,” Dorian replied. “All I can do is be relatively honest with you and hope it all plays out. You should start evacuating during the morning of the third, by the way. If you start too late, there’ll be casualties.”

“Now, say you were lying, how am I to know there’s not an ambush on the mountain? It would explain why you know about the path.”

Dorian nodded like this was a reasonable question.

“You could check, a good tracker should be able to tell that it hasn’t been used, even with the snow. It’s rough going, flanked with difficult terrain. I doubt anyone would choose that as their battleground if they had the option.”

“You’re not wrong.” He had, in fact, had some of his trackers go up the back paths that Dorian had revealed to them. They seemed untouched.

“Do you want more personal information?” Dorian asked.

“A demon could have that too, you know, if they got in my head,” Bull said.

That was another uncomfortable possibility that had come up, though Vivienne had been quick to reassure Bull that it was unlikely and that, in any event, she would protect him from any nasty demons traipsing through the fade. It was a little condescending, but also very thoughtful. Bull _liked_ Vivienne.

“Alright, information that nobody would care about then,” Dorian said. “Your horns are incredibly itchy because your last dead drop was a few weeks ago and they forgot the horn balm.”

Bull wilfully stopped himself from scratching.

“If she hasn’t turned up yet, soon you’ll be getting a visit from a little gremlin called Sera. Quite young, shares your enthusiasm for the fairer sex—”

“I’m equal opportunity.”

“I know. She, however, isn’t. She has an anecdote about fisting which you will find highly entertaining.”

“She might be a spy too,” Bull said, playing demon’s advocate.

He was intrigued about that anecdote, though.

“You’ll retract that thought once you meet her,” Dorian said. “Her primary goal in life is to demolish the ruling class and her secondary one is to annoy us all to death. You like her. A lot.”

“Cole will show up with the dragon… he’s not your cup of tea at first, but you grow to care about him.”

“What’s he like?” Bull asked.

Dorian looked sad for a moment.

“A bit like I am now,” Dorian said. “But he comes by it honestly.”

* * *

“Is it the third yet?” Dorian asked, as Bull helped him limp around the courtyard.

Streams of people were already evacuating to the chantry. Bull had plans to throw Dorian in with them, once he was sure the man could walk well enough.

“Yeah, it’s the third,” Bull replied, dryly, as the barmaid walked by with a case of bandages in her hands.

“Alright then, mind finding me a glaive? I should like to hit some things.”

Bull stopped and gave Dorian a firm look. Dorian returned it mildly.

“You’re barely upright,” Bull said.

“I’ll manage, and it’s not like you’re giving me a staff,” Dorian replied, crisply.

“I’ve seen Vints who didn’t need one,” Bull replied.

“This is true, but I’m hardly one of them at the moment.”

Bull wondered at the little spark of tenderness he felt for someone who had no doubt been a complete bastard in his home country. He’d probably bled servants dry for kicks.

“Just hang out with the rest of the children in the chantry, alright?” Bull said.

“Yes, mother,” Dorian replied.

* * *

Bull stabbed a lust demon in the chest and cursed Krem with all of his being. Beside him, Sera fired arrow after arrow with pristine accuracy and manic laughter. Cole, as strange as he had been implied to be, slit a mage’s throat before disappearing into a puff of smoke.

Dorian, still limping, cut a man’s head off with a glaive he’d stolen from the armoury.

“Didn’t I tell you to go to the chantry?” Bull asked.

“I’m not ready to take my vows just yet,” Dorian replied.

* * *

“So, what’s next?” The Inquisitor asked, once they were all safe on the back of the mountain, as predicted.

“Florianne de Chalons is going to assassinate the Empress,” Dorian replied, conversationally.

“No kidding?” The Inquisitor said.

“That does sound like something she’d do,” Vivienne replied.

They sat by the fire as the revelry took place around them. The weirdness and fear that had characterised their lives since the Breach felt a little more distant than it had before. Dorian hadn’t lied about any of it. They might have been sitting in the snow in the ass-end of nowhere, but they were alive. It was nothing to sniff at.

Bull suspected that they were all busy ignoring the fact that Dorian had told them that they’d otherwise failed in their efforts, more than once. Solas had taken that little piece of information worse than anyone and now avoided Dorian like the plague. Dorian did not seem particularly bothered by it.

“Vivienne?” Dorian asked.

“Yes, Dorian,” she replied.

“Every thought that you have ever had about every man you know has been correct,” he said.

Vivienne turned her head slowly to look at him. Bull had expected her to respond with some confident yet flippant remark, but she didn’t. She looked at Dorian carefully, her feelings hidden behind the cool mask of her face.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice calm and measured.

Dorian nodded seriously.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied.

* * *

Vivienne took well to hiking, for someone who was a city girl. She was a good sport, too. Comfortable using her magic for mundane purposes if a cart got stuck or a child got a too-serious case of the sniffles. He wouldn’t call her maternal, but she wasn’t as ruthless as she adamantly professed to be. She had some warm and fuzzy feelings hanging out in her chest. He had no plans to tell ever tell her that or think it in her presence. Vivienne always knew when he was being overly familiar.

“I’m sorry about your Empress, by the way,” Bull said. “Ma’am.”

“We shall see if it comes to pass,” Vivienne replied, sanguine.

“What do you think will happen if she eats it?” Bull asked.

As they headed north, the weather improved. They were now lucky enough to be walking through a forest that had a relatively intact merchant road. It wasn’t well maintained but it was workable. Bull was intensely grateful for the break it gave his knee.

“The players rise and fall but the game goes on, Darling,” Vivienne said. “Of course, we do require a stable replacement in these trying times.”

“Who would you suggest?”

“That would be telling,” Vivienne replied, cryptically.

* * *

“Please don’t put me in the dungeon,” Dorian said, as they approached Skyhold. “There’s a thousand foot drop out the back of it and it’s horribly scary.”

Ahead of them, Solas picked up his pace, keen to get as much distance between them as possible. Vivienne wrinkled her nose at him and exchanged a cutting look with Dorian as Solas stalked away. Bull couldn’t call them friends by any measure of the word, but Dorian and Vivienne had become cordial. They’d taken to ripping into other people’s outfits.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Sera said, from her place beside Bull and as far from Vivienne as could be politely managed. “What else can you tell us about this place?”

“There’s a nice little side room in the pub,” Dorian replied. “Has access to a rooftop and good light. It doesn’t have any holes in the ceiling, which is more than can be said for the rest of it.”

Dorian gave Bull a judgmental look, which Bull did not understand at all.

He continued, “there’s a cellar but everything in it has turned to vinegar, so don’t bother.”

“How do you know that?” Sera asked.

“We tried to drink it,” Dorian replied. “It did not go well.”

“Ergh,” Sera said, lip curled.

In the distance, a turret appeared, surrounded by a stone wall. The trees obstructed whether the drawbridge was down. Bull hoped it was, because he didn’t relish waiting for hours while some poor engineer tried to fling themselves across what was surely a very wide gap.

“Any demons hanging out there?” Bull asked.

“No; no people to attract them,” Dorian said. “The entire place has been fully abandoned. You won’t even find a corpse.”

Quiet descended upon them again. It wasn’t exactly clear whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Keeps weren’t abandoned for no reason.

“There’s a dwarf coming soon, an arcanist,” Dorian said, cutting through the silence.

“More weird magicky shit?” Sera asked. “We’ve got enough of that already.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes.

“She likes to make explosives,” Dorian said. “Very pretty girl, red hair.”

Bull perked up. Sera did the same.

“Just so you know,” Dorian added.

* * *

“That Vint freaks me out,” Cabot said.

“He’s not so bad,” Bull replied.

“Weird guy,” Candy said, from her perch on Bull’s lap. “I think I like him though, Vint or not. He told my fortune the other day.”

Bull manfully suppressed a sigh. Of course he had.

“That ain’t real,” Cabot grumbled.

“Is too!” Candy replied.

“Prove it.”

Candy adjusted the neckline of her dress like a general checked their armour. She folded her arms beneath her inspiring bosom and gave Cabot a disapproving glare. Cabot frowned at her.

“He told me that I’d soon resolve my issues with my family, if I embraced meeting new people and kept my eye out for blonds,” she said primly. “And I did. I met a nice boy named Cole and now I’ve sent a letter off to my mum. I wouldn’t have done that, otherwise.”

Bull had an uncanny feeling that he had just been plagiarised.

* * *

The funny thing about the end of the world was that it came with a surprising amount of grunt work. The Inquisitor’s council had tried to convince him to delegate it, but he was very certain that it was good for his reputation and also very keen to get out of the Keep as often as possible so people couldn’t make him do paperwork.

The Emerald Graves were the Inquisitor’s newest project. Vivienne had stayed at Skyhold to consolidate her resources prior to the upcoming ball at the Winter Palace. Cassandra had been busy being busy, Cole had been busy being _weird_ and Dorian didn’t like bears. Solas had a mural to paint. Only Blackwall and Bull had been willing to go. Sera had to come because she lost the coin toss with Varric.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” Sera said, as she wandered around the path through the forest that would hopefully lead them to the Freemen of the Dales, a group of assholes in uniform.

“We have fought three bears today,” the Inquisitor replied.

“Yeah,” Sera laughed.

The Emerald Graves were deceptively peaceful, given their history and horribly violent wildlife. The trees could best be described as verdant, the ruins picturesque. As he often did, Bull wondered at how the Tamassrans would have loved the places he was able to visit. Southerners didn’t seem to appreciate their history the way the North did.

“How long until we find these Free men or whatever?”

“About five minutes less than when you asked last time,” Blackwall replied.

“Boring.”

“We could play I Spy?” the Inquisitor said.

“That hurts my feelings on a number of levels,” Bull replied.

“We could get to know each-other better?”

Bull had a lot of stories he was willing to tell, but most of them weren’t work appropriate. That was likely true of Sera as well. However, Blackwall had to be running out of borrowed histories by now. The Inquisition had a lot of liars, but Blackwall was the worst at it. Even with the beard, Bull could see him growing antsy at the idea of providing any personal information.

“I’ve got one,” Bull said, because he was a nice guy and establishing good will made it easier to acquire accurate information later.

“Is it about girls?” Sera asked. Beside her, Blackwall nodded.

“Andraste,” the Inquisitor hissed to himself.

“Nah,” Bull said. “This one’s about a guy.”

He thought back to one of his less wild evenings, of which there were not many, when he was near the coast of Nevarra. Not many redheads, but much better wine.

“He was a dancer,” Bull replied.

If he was being honest, he couldn’t remember much of it, but he could spin a yarn as well as anyone. He worked in the usuals; mistaken identities, false names and questionable past professions, and he watched Blackwall to see where he leaned forward and when he turned still.

Bull had a world of knowledge with the Inquisition and its spies and scholars, and its funny little mages. There was still something to be said for information you could gather on your own. It was always the little things that held you up, or pushed you down.

* * *

“I think there’s a book in this,” Varric said, at one in the morning, when they were all very deep in their cups.

Bull was more or less upright, but Dorian had started to prop himself up on the table and Varric kept putting his tankard down too hard and spilling ale everywhere. It had long since passed the time where Bull might expect himself to find a bed partner, though he didn’t mind much. A night off wouldn’t kill him.

“It would be a terrible book,” Dorian replied.

Skyhold had done something to Dorian. Had weaved the loose ends back into the fabric of his being. He could hold a lucid conversation, now.

“I suppose you’d know,” Varric replied. “How about this? A book about time travel, what do you say? Let me pick your brain.”

“I can’t believe you’d want to switch to horror,” Dorian said, a little crinkle forming in his brow.

“Not horror, adventure! Maybe romance,” Varric said.

“Alright,” Dorian replied, before he pushed his empty stein forward. “You get me a drink and we can talk.”

“You make a hard bargain, mage.” Varric pushed himself up on his feet and weaved his way over to Cabot.

Dorian had that faraway look in his eyes, that came up whenever something wasn’t as he expected it to be. He had learned not to show it in his body language, but he wasn’t good enough to hide all of it. Maybe he had been once.

“What’s up?” Bull asked, as he took another sip from his own beer.

“He used to call me Sparkler,” Dorian replied.

Bull could see why. Dorian had started to join in on missions and his fighting style was flashy in a manner that was moderately inefficient but also distracting. He was a good and increasingly reliable fighter.

“Funny the things you miss, huh?” Bull asked.

Dorian nodded in reply, grown quiet once again as Varric made his approach. Varric put the drinks down and seated himself at the table with a pleased air. He pulled a stack of papers and a piece of charcoal from his pocket.

“How’s this?” Varric said. “A dashing rogue steals an ancient artefact…”

“A rogue? Not a mage?” Dorian asked.

“That’s not selling right now,” Varric said, dryly.

“I suppose you’re not selling many books to us at the moment, either,” Dorian replied. “Alright, proceed.”

“He? She? Tries to save the world from a great evil, gathers a group of worthy companions, falls in love—”

“And then they all die?” Bull asked.

“Well, depends on what you think works best,” Dorian said. “But from my perspective, I die.”

“Maybe this conversation is a bit too bleak,” Varric replied, somewhat sheepishly.

“I suppose I don’t mind talking about it, might even be therapeutic.”

He genuinely seemed to be comfortable with the idea. Bull wasn’t about to say no. It wasn’t the sort of opportunity you had every day. He was curious.

“How many times have you done this?” Bull asked.

Dorian thought about it for a moment, his head lightly swaying in the manner of the pleasantly drunk. He flicked through his fingers silently for a moment.

“Dozens of times,” Dorian said.

“Shit,” Bull replied, aptly.

“No wonder you were a bit,” Varric waved his hand over his head. “At first.”

Dorian nodded, “it gets easier the further I am from the start. Everything becomes less predictable, so it’s more like being a person.”

“You don’t feel like a person?” Varric asked.

“Well, have you ever had one of those dreams, where you walk through a crowd trying to talk to people, but no one replies to you?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had that one,” Varric said.

“The first time felt like I was dreaming, remembering what it had been like when this all began, but then I never woke up,” Dorian said, quietly. “And all of my friends were gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Varric said.

“It’s not all bad,” Dorian said. “I know all of your tells at Diamondback now.”

* * *

“So every time you die?” Sera asked, as she put an arrow through the eye of a red templar.

“Every time,” Dorian replied.

He spun on his heel and sent a swathe of fire into the melee. Bull leapt in after it, swinging. Fighting red templars was always a bit depressing. They couldn’t help where they had come to, but they still had to die.

“How’s that feel, dying?”

“Depends,” Dorian said. “I never remember that part well; I’m not sure if it’s a function of the Breach or simply the mind protecting itself from trauma. I mostly find it annoying now.”

“Dorian, when we get this sorted out, remind me to sit you down and talk to you until you find death confronting again,” Bull said.

“We wouldn’t want you to walk into a sword ten minutes after we close the Breach,” the Inquisitor added.

The Inquisitor took a leap off the hillside and bashed a Behemoth over the head with his shield. Bull didn’t know why the Inquisitor could manage to do that and Krem couldn’t.

“I like your positivity,” Dorian replied. “Let’s keep up that energy, shall we?”

* * *

Skinner started learning embroidery, so the Chargers started up their own stitch and bitch. A lot of the tavern girls joined and one or two men from the infantry. The most unexpected addition was Cole, who liked to hold Varric’s yarn.

“Why don’t you bring a project of your own?” Krem asked.

Cole looked up from the wool in his hands, a confused expression on his face.

“But who will hold the wool?” Cole asked.

“If it’s wound up correctly, it unspools easy enough,” Krem replied.

“I like to help,” Cole said.

Krem gave it up for a bad job and nodded agreeably. Bull hid a laugh into his darning.

“The threads keep splitting,” Cole muttered, on the edge of hearing. “Keep a hold of it this time.”

They all left him to it.

* * *

Bull was restless the evening before they were due to march out to the Storm Coast. He’d never been uncomfortable at the thought of being closer to the Qun, before. It had been years since he’d even talked to one of his own people, face to face.

He wasn’t surprised when Dorian joined him, leaning against the Balustrade outside his room.

“You know what happens, don’t you?” Bull asked.

“Yes,” Dorian replied.

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“No.”

“Then what good are you?”

Dorian was quiet for a moment. Bull didn’t turn to look at him. He could almost feel Dorian weighing up his words. Bull was sure that Dorian would crack, if he stayed silent for long enough.

“Would you feel that same sense of unease, if I told you your future again?” Dorian asked.

“Yeah, but I’ll listen anyway,” Bull replied.

Dorian sighed, barely audible over the rush of the wind through the Keep. Bull turned, finally, to look at him.

“Blow the horn,” Dorian said, his voice quiet and his eyes terribly serious.

“That’s it?” Bull asked.

“That’s it.” Dorian replied.

* * *

Krem fell asleep, propped against Bull’s shoulder, as they rode the supply cart up the mountain and back to the Keep.

* * *

“Were there any times where I didn’t?” Bull asked.

“I don’t think you want to know the answer to that,” Dorian replied.

“That means yes,” Bull said.

Dorian didn’t deny the accusation. He just took another sip of his beer. Bull had already finished his. He was in a drinking mood and imagined he would be for a good while.

“What was it like?” Bull asked.

“It doesn’t matter, that wasn’t you.”

“Kind of feels like it was,” Bull replied.

Dorian shook his head.

“At first it is, but then everyone’s choices carry forward and you become different people.”

“Who did you used to be?” Bull asked

He couldn’t deny that he was interested, and he had his own suspicions about it. Bull wanted to know if he was right.

“I was insufferable, egotistical,” Dorian said. “Idealistic, much more fun to be around.”

“Oh really?” Bull said, leering.

Dorian smiled, a little smirk of a thing beneath bedroom eyes.

“I was,” Dorian replied.

“Well, if you ever feel like regressing…”

Dorian laughed, full-throated, gorgeous, but he left shortly after, his goodbyes shaky and his shoulders stiff.

* * *

From his place in the practice yard, Bull had a perfect view of the Inquisitor bestowing a book upon Cassandra. Her giddy enthusiasm lit up her serious face like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Cassandra had a maiden’s heart beneath her armour.

Bull almost wanted to applaud it, because Cassandra was probably the only woman in the Inquisition who could be romantically won over by one of Varric’s books.

“Aw, isn’t that nice?” Krem said, when he should have been trying to hit Skinner over the head with a bastard sword.

“She’s cute when she’s not being terrifying,” Dalish added.

Bull was happy for them. He wouldn’t have minded a night or two with Cassandra, had she been interested, but that wasn’t how she was built. The Inquisitor, with his unexpected shyness, was a far better fit.

“Poor Josephine,” Stitches said, quietly.

“What do you mean?” Krem asked.

“Her and the Inquisitor, seemed there was something there, for a while,” Stitches replied.

“That’s how these things go,” Skinner said, thoughtfully.

* * *

“That’s forward, even for you,” Dorian said, that evening.

“I guess I want to know you as well as you know me,” Bull replied.

Dorian gave him a very dry look that had some fondness hidden in it. Bull wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to get Dorian into bed or not, but he was at least interested in the idea. Dorian was a friend. He was also incredibly hot.

The tavern had quieted around them, most gone to bed due to the lateness of the hour. The two of them were fresh in from a jaunt around the Hinterlands and they therefore had few commitments for the morning. They’d been talking for hours.

“There was someone,” Dorian said. “The first time.”

“Only the first time?” Bull asked.

“Only then,” Dorian replied.

Bull had never been in a romantic relationship, had barely been in a physical relationship for overlong. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to try. The concept was still strange to him.

“If he loved you once, he could again,” Bull said. “I thought you Vints had some romance in you.”

“We’re a passionate people,” Dorian admitted.

“Come on,” Bull said, not firm, but still encouragingly.

Dorian sighed, a sound Bull was increasingly familiar with as Dorian became increasingly poor at hiding his melancholy. He reached on hand up to fiddle with the end of his moustache, before he nodded.

“The first time I looped back, I thought that I could save him,” Dorian said, his voice pensive. “But then I realised that the man I’d loved had died and the one I’d returned to wasn’t him. He didn’t know me, he hadn’t shared the same experiences.”

“I don’t think anyone would blame you for mourning him, especially not him,” Bull replied.

“It’s a storm of cognitive dissonance; difficult to navigate,” Dorian said.

“You don’t seem like the type to give in easy,” Bull replied.

Dorian smiled wryly, “Doesn’t it sound like stalking? Someone you’ve never met, who knows all of your private details and uses them to get you into bed? Horrifying.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Bull replied.

Dorian raised two fingers and ordered them another round of Ferelden beer. The waitress nodded at him.

“I used to be charming,” Dorian said. “Now I’m unnerving. It’s made me wonder how you manage to be so good with people, when you know them so completely, for good or ill.”

“I’m a people person,” Bull replied. “And forgive me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem to be trying too hard this time.”

Dorian waved his hand, “this one’s a write off.” His voice was flippant.

“Excuse you?” Bull said. “I want to live.”

“You will eventually, I hope. Please forgive me for needing a break from all the intrigue.”

“Is that what you usually do? Pretend it’s business as usual.”

“It’s exhausting. It’s not like I didn’t have experience, growing up in Tevinter, but it’s hardly the same.”

The barmaid dropped off their drinks with a smile for Bull and a polite nod for Dorian. Dorian passed her a handful of coins and his thanks. He might’ve been a source of varying discomfort around Skyhold, but he’d always been polite to the people who made his food. No doubt to avoid how often they’d spit in it, otherwise.

“You do seem to be enjoying yourself most of the time,” Bull said.

“It’s freeing,” Dorian replied. “But it’s not the best way to make friends. I used to play chess with Cullen, if you can believe.

“No kidding?” Bull asked.

Dorian hummed in reply.

The drained their last drinks in a comfortable silence. Bull tallied their count in his head and decided it was time for them to go. Bull was feeling pleasantly toasty and wasn’t in the mood for a hangover.

“Come on, let’s call it,” Bull said, as he slid from his chair.

“If you insist.”

Dorian wasn’t even wobbly as they made their way to the door. Bull was impressed. The wind cut into them once they were outside. Bull had gotten used to shitty Southern weather, but he couldn’t say he enjoyed it. From Dorian’s newfound scowl, he clearly agreed.

“This guy of yours…” Bull said.

“Hm?” Dorian replied.

“You keep talking about how unfair this is to him; you having a go,” Bull said. “But that’s only true if you’re trying to get in his pants and he doesn’t know about all of it.”

Dorian’s head snapped towards him, surprise clear on his face, “what?”

“If he knows what your past is, then he can make an informed decision over whether he wants to try again. You’re hot stuff Dorian, can’t see someone turning you down,” Bull said.

Bull let his eye drop down approvingly over the line of Dorian’s body, the curve of his arm and the round swell of his ass. A smile grew on Bull’s face, easy and lop-sided, lecherous. Yeah, Dorian was a fine example of humanity.

“Are you propositioning me?” Dorian’s voice shook with laughter.

“Not tonight,” Bull replied, reassuringly. “But if you ever feel like blowing off some steam, I’m a good time.”

Dorian’s green eyes turned narrowed, Bull’s interest finding itself mirrored suddenly. Dorian tilted his head up.

“I know,” Dorian replied, his smile cryptic, before turning away towards the courtyard and off towards his room.

Bull watched him leave, one of life’s little pleasures, then limped his way up the stairs to his own place. He felt a swell of pride for his alternate self. He’d always wondered what it was like, to get it on with a mage.

* * *

The sheets had fallen to the floor and one of the pillows had been torn open by an unfortunate head-toss. All of the candles had sputtered down to nothing, but Bull could still see Dorian, through the moonlight that came in from the window. Dorian was still shaking with the aftershocks and Bull wanted to hold him very badly. He’d tried to. Dorian had said he needed a minute, so Bull had, of course, given him that.

He’d yielded so beautifully, had trusted Bull with his body in a way few people ever had. It was _satisfying_. Bull felt limp and sore, relieved by the coolness of the morning air. Unexpectedly needy. Sex had never been quite like that before.

“It was me, wasn’t it?” Bull asked.

He heard Dorian sigh beside him. Dorian turned his head towards him, splayed out on his stomach with his arms wrapped around a surviving pillow.

“Yes,” Dorian replied. “It was you.”

“Remember all that stuff I said, about honesty?”

“You’re not the type for relationships, Bull,” Dorian said, sadly. “Neither am I, really. We just fell into it, I’m not even sure how.”

“If we did it once…”

Dorian sat up.

“You can’t tell me you like the idea of being tied down.”

Bull smiled, shamelessly and raised an eyebrow. Dorian rolled his eyes in return.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t mind it so much,” Bull replied.

He raised a hand and stroked a finger down the curve of Dorian’s cheek. Dorian’s expression softened, but there was something aching about it. He really was very beautiful.

“I miss him,” Dorian said. “And you’re here and he’s you, but he’s also not. I don’t know if I can…”

His voice trailed off.

“Just think about it,” Bull said.

* * *

The Fallow Mire was as close as Bull would ever get to his own personal definition of hell. The rain soaked through his armour, the oppressive humidity made him sweat even with the frigid cold. It was also absolutely lousy with demons.

“How many is that?” the Inquisitor asked.

Bull sliced a Fear demon in two. It screeched deafeningly. Fortunately, it was the last of them.

“I believe that is thirty today,” Solas replied.

“I hate demons,” Bull grumbled, angrily.

“Would you like to play some more chess?” Solas asked.

“Nah, not today, I’m too wound up for chess.”

His boots were full of water from traipsing through the bloody swamp. His axe had gone dull from swiping the heads of corpses, which was going to become a problem soon if he didn’t get some serious time with a whetstone. Bull liked to think of the glass as half full, but a positive mindset could only last so long while cold water kept streaming down the back of your neck into your ass crack.

“I miss Dorian,” Bull said.

“You do?” Solas asked, aiming at innocuously and mostly getting there.

“He’s great at keeping things dry, he hates getting wet,” Bull replied.

And he was great in bed and his oddness grew on you. He had a great smile. He was warm.

“I will confess to being somewhat surprised,” Solas said.

“Because of the Tevinter thing, the mage thing or the other thing?” Bull asked.

“All three, I suppose, given your skillset,” Solas replied. “But mainly ‘the other thing’.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, but there’s a giant hole in the sky spewing out demons, we’re off the path now.”

“Even so.”

“I suppose it’d bother me more if I had anything to hide,” Bull said, mildly.

Solas hummed in response, then turned towards the Inquisitor and walked off. Bull followed. As he walked, he pondered the wisdom of any future games of strategy with the man.

* * *

“I have suspicions,” Vivienne said.

Dorian nodded, “he’s not what he claims to be, though I can’t say what he actually is.”

“He has his eyes and ears around Skyhold,” Vivienne said.

It was a subtle operation. Solas didn’t meet with them often or obviously, but there was a notable difference in how he treated some elves and not others, and how they treated him, given his unexpected disdain for his own people.

“If he was aware of how little I knew, he might avoid me less,” Dorian said. “He’s more cautious than I have ever seen him be.”

“I might ask your help,” Vivienne said, her head turned towards Bull.

“I think they might see me coming, Ma’am,” Bull replied.

“No one _ever_ sees you coming, Darling,” she said.

* * *

Bull waited by an Inquisition tent as an army of Orlesians rushed around him. The Arbor Wilds had been transformed into a hub, uncomfortably familiar to Bull, though the trees were thankfully less dense and the air cooler. His least favourite aspect of a war was always the part where he had to hurry up and wait.

Dorian slipped through the crowd towards him, earning a few nasty glares from the chevaliers. He was wearing new leathers, green this time, with a bladed staff over his shoulder. He had that quiet look in his eyes that he had whenever he mostly knew what would come next and wasn’t particularly worried about it.

“Hey,” Bull said.

“Hello,” Dorian replied.

He slipped in beside Bull without asking, pressed up against Bull’s side. Bull placed his hand around Dorians waist and held him, warm and easy, under his arm.

“You got a good feeling about this?” Bull asked.

“Who knows?” Dorian said. “Maybe we’ll make it this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Edit: I can't believe the positive response this has received, for a game that is years old. Thank you so much to everyone who kudo'ed and commented!
> 
> I'm very sorry I haven't completed my other ongoing fic... it's entirely plotted out but I need to edit some of the earlier parts to fit in my conclusion better. It's going to be a while, I'm sorry for keeping everyone waiting.


	2. Coda

[He was always going to make it, in the end.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384473)


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